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Traveller's Tale
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<blockquote data-quote="taykair" data-source="post: 169624" data-attributes="member: 9418"><p style="text-align: center">Chapter Eight</p> <p style="text-align: center">Memories of Light (1991-1995)</p><p></p><p>The old man lied when he said it was over. It wasn't.</p><p></p><p>True, it was the last time I visited the Place of Light, and the last time that I left my body. True, I had now sobered up, quit my job, and moved back to the little town I had once left behind, so my time in the wilderness was over. True, it was over as far as Amy and I were concerned. She was married now, to a good Christian (of course) guy.</p><p></p><p>Lots of things were over. Even the feeling of joy I once had in knowing that Elizabeth was alive - happily playing in the Place of Light - was over. There was now just a dull, monotonous emptiness which I filled with work and - for the first time in my life - books.</p><p></p><p>Yes, I had half-way read what was required of me in school, at least enough to pass a test. Yes, I was surrounded by books growing up, but they were more for decoration than for contemplation. Except for the Bible and a few books related to it (commentaries and so forth) I pretty much ignored what the rest of literature had to offer and, by ignoring, became more and more ignorant. I'll save the story about how I became, if not intelligent, then at least a little less ignorant, for a bit later in this tale. For now, let's get back to "things being over":</p><p></p><p>In many ways, as I said, many things in my life were indeed over. In one very significant way, however, something was not over. I was still haunted by the Place of Light. Curious and afraid, I longed to explore it. I yearned to hear the Conversation once again. And I was starting to remember.</p><p></p><p><em>One of the things I remember is that I wasn't the only human being in the Place of Light. You were there as well. And you. Every human being - perhaps even every sentient being - who lives or has ever lived is there, right now, taking part in a great conversation in the Place of Light.</em></p><p></p><p><em>You don't remember, you say? I'll bet you do. Ever have a moment of inspiration? Ever had an unbidden thought enter your mind, making you say to yourself, 'Damn! What made me think of that?' Ever experience deja vu? Ever lose your car keys, give up looking for them, then suddenly remember where they were?</em></p><p></p><p><em>Oh, yeah. You remember. You were there. Maybe only for a nanosecond. Perhaps only in your dreams. But you were there.</em></p><p></p><p>These memories I was starting to have did not come all at once. If they had, then I'd probably be writing this tale by pecking out letters on the keyboard with my nose while wearing a straightjacket. Fortunately, the memories spread themselves out over a period of years so that, when that "time of remembering" was over, I was more curious than afraid.</p><p></p><p>The memories would come for no reason that I could discern. That is, I wouldn't be doing or thinking about anything in particular that would have been a trigger for the memories. They would just come. One moment, I didn't know. The next moment, I did. Just like that.</p><p></p><p>Unfortunately, the memories didn't have the decency to arrive in chronological order. Over the years since memories came, I've tried to piece them together in such a way as to create some kind of coherent narrative from them, but I'm not certain where (actually, <em>when</em>) all the pieces fit. As for those pieces, so many are missing that anything I can figure out would certainly not be the whole story.</p><p> </p><p>What follows are my memories of the conversations I had with the old man in the Place of Light. These are the things he <em>told-showed </em>me. That is, when he would describe a thing to me, the image of that thing would appear to me. It was as if I was actually there.</p><p></p><p>It is a story about life after death, and what a race of beings, now long dead themselves, thought about it. It is also the story about what their descendants (so to speak) did about it.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="taykair, post: 169624, member: 9418"] [CENTER]Chapter Eight Memories of Light (1991-1995)[/CENTER] The old man lied when he said it was over. It wasn't. True, it was the last time I visited the Place of Light, and the last time that I left my body. True, I had now sobered up, quit my job, and moved back to the little town I had once left behind, so my time in the wilderness was over. True, it was over as far as Amy and I were concerned. She was married now, to a good Christian (of course) guy. Lots of things were over. Even the feeling of joy I once had in knowing that Elizabeth was alive - happily playing in the Place of Light - was over. There was now just a dull, monotonous emptiness which I filled with work and - for the first time in my life - books. Yes, I had half-way read what was required of me in school, at least enough to pass a test. Yes, I was surrounded by books growing up, but they were more for decoration than for contemplation. Except for the Bible and a few books related to it (commentaries and so forth) I pretty much ignored what the rest of literature had to offer and, by ignoring, became more and more ignorant. I'll save the story about how I became, if not intelligent, then at least a little less ignorant, for a bit later in this tale. For now, let's get back to "things being over": In many ways, as I said, many things in my life were indeed over. In one very significant way, however, something was not over. I was still haunted by the Place of Light. Curious and afraid, I longed to explore it. I yearned to hear the Conversation once again. And I was starting to remember. [I]One of the things I remember is that I wasn't the only human being in the Place of Light. You were there as well. And you. Every human being - perhaps even every sentient being - who lives or has ever lived is there, right now, taking part in a great conversation in the Place of Light.[/I] [I]You don't remember, you say? I'll bet you do. Ever have a moment of inspiration? Ever had an unbidden thought enter your mind, making you say to yourself, 'Damn! What made me think of that?' Ever experience deja vu? Ever lose your car keys, give up looking for them, then suddenly remember where they were?[/I] [I]Oh, yeah. You remember. You were there. Maybe only for a nanosecond. Perhaps only in your dreams. But you were there.[/I] These memories I was starting to have did not come all at once. If they had, then I'd probably be writing this tale by pecking out letters on the keyboard with my nose while wearing a straightjacket. Fortunately, the memories spread themselves out over a period of years so that, when that "time of remembering" was over, I was more curious than afraid. The memories would come for no reason that I could discern. That is, I wouldn't be doing or thinking about anything in particular that would have been a trigger for the memories. They would just come. One moment, I didn't know. The next moment, I did. Just like that. Unfortunately, the memories didn't have the decency to arrive in chronological order. Over the years since memories came, I've tried to piece them together in such a way as to create some kind of coherent narrative from them, but I'm not certain where (actually, [I]when[/I]) all the pieces fit. As for those pieces, so many are missing that anything I can figure out would certainly not be the whole story. What follows are my memories of the conversations I had with the old man in the Place of Light. These are the things he [I]told-showed [/I]me. That is, when he would describe a thing to me, the image of that thing would appear to me. It was as if I was actually there. It is a story about life after death, and what a race of beings, now long dead themselves, thought about it. It is also the story about what their descendants (so to speak) did about it. [/QUOTE]
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